A drive to the plantations
I see my trees looking robust
shimmering with a greenish hue
Part of the area, takes the cue
from the play schools, hosting
two year old. toddlers
jostling in the air
expressing a sweetness
nonpareil.
Crossing them, I behold
the fruits with gold coats
a tinge of black runs in between
lie in heaps, shining
as the sun’s rays penetrate
with a vengeance.
Walking along with
the harvesters, they smile
I nod, language problem
at its height, but we carry on
articulating gestures, emojis as popularly
known, fairly better than dialogue.
A jaunt I prefer, evocative of life
as against the hum drumming
of machines with their mechanism.
I hear.
Meenas Poems 